Scream
by Cielo-the-Hidden-Flame
Summary: I won't say it. Read.


Angel casted nervous glances over her shoulders, clutching the strap of her satchel bag tighter. Strands of her hair slipped free of its confine and tickled her neck; she jumped. Reaching back she felt the silky texture of her hair and laughed nervously, inwardly relieved it was the murderer.

The darkness of the streets scared her as she walked home from her job as a fashion designer even though she's only sixteen. She is a child prodigy.

It had been a late night because some numbskull in the office thought that they knew better designs than her because she younger, way younger, and decided to change important details about the clothing she had sent out. because of that she had spent most the day couped up in her office calling the stores, explaining that an employee had a big ego and decided that taking orders from a little girl was demeaning ans changed her designs, apologizing, and promising to get the rightshipment out on time. Thankfully the store owners understood what happened and extended their condolences. Then she located the numbskull who she put on probation a deducted their pay, plus she had to finish thr gift from hell, paperwork, which took several hours, before scheduling a meeeting next week. In the end she finally left work at eight o' casted nervous glances over her shoulders, clutching the strap of her bag tighter. Strands of her hair slipped free of its confines and tickled her neck; she jumped. Reaching back she felt her hair and laughed nervously, relieved.

Which means that she had to walk home at night time and she doesn't have a car seeing as she is a minor. Normally she would walk home at night and there is no problem, but recently their has been a string of murders happening in town. According to the police they aren't planned more random than anything. So they can't gather any leads on who is doing this and why. Which really freaks her out.

The victims are killed brutally, usually with missing limbs or organs pulled out and any other grotesque technique used to kill people. The horrible thing is that the victims are still alive when the police find them. Makes her sick to think about it. It doesn't matter what gender or the age, though children are safe. Apparently the murderer has a soft spot for children. Ex: a woman was skinned alive while her son was knocked out. He had one helluva bump on his noggin but he lived. Scarred for life, sure.  
Police have advised people to stay inside their homes after 6 and she wished that the law would be bent so prodigies could drive at 16. Her parents couldn't pick her up because they are in the Bahamas mooching off her money. Useless gold-diggers.

So here she was walking about a block away from her house dressed in a white long-sleeved tee with a detailed drawing of a panda, under a black oversized jacket that drooped like dog ears to her knees, black shorts with multiple zippers and checkered heeled high-tops. Her hair was tied messily in a high ponytail by a green ribbon -her favorite one. Her satchel bag, glaringly white, bumped against her long legs as she walked. She was more scared than a elephant looking at a mouse.

Glancing around, she spun on the balls of her feet when she heard footsteps, nothing was behind her. Berating herself for freaking out at nothing she restarted her way home. The footsteps came again and she assumed that it was her mind playing tricks on her though she did increase her speed. Sighing in relief when she spotted her house, she stopped in front of the gates reaching for the keys hidden in the bushes. Rolling her eyes at the stupidity of her parents and the obviousness of their hiding spot, she unlocked the gates and tossed the keys back in the bushes. Jogging up to the door she typed in the code to open the door and unlock it.

The inside her house was furnished with furniture of deep brown and dark greens giving off a homey feel. Angel made her way to her bedroom to recline in her whirly-chair. Winding her way up the curved stairs.

'I never understood why they couldn't just get normal stairs like most people. All this curving is making me sick.' She thought frowning thoughtfully then she shrugged dismissing the subject as unimportant just as she stopped on the 2nd floor. Her door was the first to the right with a pitch black plate on it reading 'Idiots away. Can't tolerate stupidity' in gold cursive writing .Entering the code to her room as well. She flopped on the bed with the finesse of an armless dog staring up at the ceiling. Her room had one color scheme. White. Everything piece of furniture she owned was that color. It soothed her and being surrounded by it made her relaxed. Well as relaxed as one girl can get when there is a murderer is on the loose and she is left alone, her parents galavanting off on a different continent.

The troubles of a prodigal kid.

She rolled onto her stomach, head in palms, bored out of her mind. Then her mind changed direction onto her least favorite pondering, what her life would be like if she wasn't a prodigy.  
It was wistful thinking. She fell asleep with a sad smile on her face.

(Unknown P.O.V)

He stood and watched her.

He had been fascinated when he had first seen her —that beautiful girl sleeping angelically at the lake, all alone.

He hadn't been able to turn away, gazing at her through the trees, through the blazing sun. He hadn't expected anybody to be there, hadn't even realized there was a house hidden from view near the lake. Once his work was done with his latest victims –it was a couple who screamed so delightfully loud when he tore their limbs from their body, he needed to walk and his instincts had driven him deep into the sunless shelter of the woods.

He often prowled after he killed. City streets. . .neighborhoods. . .abandoned homes, anything convenient place to work off the lingering effects of restlessness and release. He hunted unhindered. Undetected. And unseen.

It is amusing to stand above people as they slept...people who didn't know he was there, people unaware that their lives were in his power. With one quick decision he could determine if they awakened tomorrow, or if they languished for hours or days on end, or if their heart stopped suddenly, mid beat, without a warning. But he rarely does as what is a prey that cannot run from the predator.

Similar to his heart that had no warning when saw her there at the window.

He had watched her curiously, the sunlight glistening on her delicate bronze skin, the outline of her sweet, soft curves beneath the flimsy fabric of her white sundress. At one point he thought she was waking, for body stirred, moving around restlessly...but she stilled. He has been a shadow for a while, then revealed himself to the sun's warm glare. He had knelt down next to her, watching the hitching of her dress as it showed her toned thighs, the gentle swell of her breast as she breathed, the fabric clinging to her well-developed chest. He had reached out and caressed her legs with the touch of a lover, but she hasn't known; he could have taken her, but he waited.

He didn't need an invitation—not from her, not from anyone. He did as he pleased, when he pleased.

And how he pleased.

But her sorrow had stopped him.

Like a secret trying to be hidden, it was there cloaked under her own apathy. He pulled at the aura to feel more and it had burst free, surrounding her body like a fragile aura, it had flowed free and he savored the bitterness and despair she holed up inside her. He could feel the palpable grief, the vulnerability and despair, and it would have been so easy, so pleasurable, to take her sweet body then, he decided against it.

Instead his touches stroked her inner thighs once before caressing her face, laying a chaste kiss upon her plump lips. That is when he noticed it. A golden strand. He gazed at it curiously noting it came from under her floppy hat and gently removed the hat, revealing golden hair that shimmered in the light. His breath hitched and he watched as the one thing holding it restrained disappeared, it flowed down endlessly, framing her face. Running his hands through her hair that felt like the finest of silk.

Beautiful.

Then she began to stir and he retreated into the cover of the woods, watching her with desire as she had woken, arching like a cat a silent yawn on her lips. While he was annoyed that she woken in the middle of his pleasure, it washed away when he saw her eyes.

Her eyes were the palest of blue, a silvery-blue. They darkened as she sat there and he could feel her sadness before she masked it again. She had fixed her dress and covered her hair and he watched her go.

He decided to call her Orianna. Yes. His Orianna. His golden flower.

Now though he slipped through her balcony, catching sight of her curled up, asleep. He smiled and laid down next to her, wrapping his arms around her, watching her. He stayed like that, hugging her. He didn't need to sleep as much as a human. When the dawn arrived her kissed her chastely on lips, disappearing.

My dear Orianna. . .

(Allen P.O.V)

Again I woke to a heady scent, a combination of iron and cinnamon. It pulled at my senses—smelling it everywhere, most prominent on my bed and me. It intoxicated me. Yet, I pulled away and reluctantly left the sanctuary of my bed.

I don't understand how whoever it was snuck into my room, past all the alarms. Honestly, a part of me didn't want to know. I came to enjoy the scent. It reminded me that I wasn't alone—the breaking and-no sneaking and entering left me unnerved that the murder could have used the same way, appear and kill me at any chosen moment. It sent shivers down my spine in fear.

Today was Saturday, which meant she worked from home. Why? A reprieve of the idiots who crowded her. Nothing else. Time to relax


End file.
